Divine
by kiwi.girrrl
Summary: The religiously scientific Dr. Maura Isles has a different sort of religious experience.


**Divine**

2013 Kiwi Girrrl

Rated: **T**

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_Jane's home._

The premise is as much a certainty as the Y incision in an autopsy.

Although you had finally convinced yourself that you weren't waiting for her; the notion is immediately discarded the second you hear her key in the door. You are waiting for her now as you do every night. You look up from the wineglass in your hand as she shuts the door behind her, just loud enough for you to hear no matter where you may be in the house; announcing her arrival.

You smile.

Your imagination whisks you away for a moment; you're running across the room and throwing yourself at her. Leaping into her arms and wrapping your legs around her waist, planting kisses all over her adorable face. But the memory of the last time you did that with someone here intrudes, unwelcome. The dream dissolves and disappears. You remain rooted to the spot.

The moment passes.

She kicks her shoes off in the entryway and sees you watching her. A wide smile transforms her face; it is one of the smiles she reserves only for you. You wonder again how this enchanting woman became your best friend. The look lingers long past what is considered normal outside of a physically intimate relationship. But neither one of you seem willing to look away. She is walking towards you now, with a purposeful stride, and a bit of swagger.

"Wow, you look hot," she says in her best Giovanni impersonation. Her eyes roam up and down your body with a lascivious leer. As she approaches her swagger becomes comically exaggerated. Her dimples appear with a grin.

You wish you could flippantly reply, _"You look hot too."_ But you cannot lie, and you dare not give voice to the words for irrational fear of her rejection. And you wish, in the space of a missed heartbeat, that she actually meant to sincerely flirt with you instead of just in jest. Instead you laugh at the inside joke, which you knew was her intent all along.

Tension acknowledged, lessens.

You look again at the wineglass in your hand. Manners. You retrieve a bottle of her favourite beer from the refrigerator. Even though you rarely drink it, and then only with her; you always keep a small supply in stock and chilled. You raise the bottle toward her in silent query, even though you already know she will accept it. Her smile is your reward as she nods assent. You swap the beer for the bag of take-out she has brought for dinner from a new Thai restaurant she discovered recently.

She removes her jacket and tosses it carelessly aside, uncaring where it lands. Her eyes follow you as you automatically drape it over the back of a chair so it won't wrinkle. You catch the smirk she tries to hide by drinking from her beer. Realising what you've done, you smile broadly in return.

You are content.

Together you prepare the meal as you have done countless times before. She moves about your kitchen as easily as she would her own. Your actions are synchronised, well practiced. You engage in unimportant banter; playful ribbing, mostly at your expense; bouts of joyful laughter, interspersed with companionable silences. Every opportunity you get, you regale her with useful factoids about anything, just to see her roll her eyes at you and groan. But you see the delight in her eyes and the grin that belies her mockery. Your laughter is spontaneous and natural.

Her good mood is infectious.

There is barely any room between you as you settle next to her on the couch. Her warmth envelopes you. As she takes a bite of food, her reaction captivates you. She moans and closes her eyes. You watch as she savours the morsel and then swallows. Her enjoyment, is close to what you theorise she would look like while making love. She is exquisite. You quickly look away.

"Oh. My. God. Maur, you have got to try this. It's positively sinful."

She picks up another portion and holds it up to your mouth; innocently tantalising.

The intimacy of the gesture is not lost on you, and you hope it is not lost on her either. You lean closer and accept her offering. As you close your mouth you glance up and meet her eyes. You see an emotion in her's you have never seen directed at you before; desire, yearning, hunger? Before you can identify it, she quickly looks away. Your lips seal around the chopsticks holding them in place as you take the spicy food into your mouth.

Your imagine, for a moment, her fingers in place of the bamboo utensils. The thought generates an intense physical craving that is more than you expected, and much more than you are ready for. You close your eyes to hide your escalating desire. The moan you release sounds far too sexual for your peace of mind, but you hope she accepts it is in relation to the delectable food.

You feel a gentle tug on the chopsticks and realise you are holding them captive. You relax and she slides them out slowly, seductively. You run your tongue quickly, innocently, over your lips to catch any remnants. Your enthusiastic response is lost before the words form as your eyes focus on her again.

Her cheeks are flushed. Eyes, dilated to the point where they appear completely black, are currently fixated on your mouth. She is holding her breath. Is she real or are you imagining the vision before you?

_Goddess._

The urge to say the word is overwhelming. But you dare not. You remind yourself her friendship means more to you than anything else, including physical intimacy. You compromise. The synonym you choose efficiently expresses your opinion of the food and the woman.

"Divine."

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Author's Note: This was going to be a longer story, but the rest of it was utter crap, so this is it.


End file.
